


new clichés

by LouLa



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Sugar Daddy, Brief mention of past Sidney Crosby/Nathan MacKinnon, Jo is an influencer, M/M, Nate is still a hockey player and also still dumb, Verified: Nate loves to eat ass
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2021-02-26 18:01:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23704501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LouLa/pseuds/LouLa
Summary: There’s not really a great way for Nate to casually let the family know he’s essentially paying for Jo to be his boyfriend.It’s not like an arrangement, really. They don’t have terms. It’s notPretty Woman. But Jo is a broke theatre major graduate with an income source that remains dubiously inconsistent at best, and Nate likes to give him everything he asks for.
Relationships: Jonathan Drouin/Nathan MacKinnon
Comments: 8
Kudos: 272





	new clichés

**Author's Note:**

> I do not know or speak a word of french so if the one translation in this fic is incorrect, google apologizes profusely for its mistakes.
> 
> Title credit to for him. by Troye Sivan.

Summer’s barely started and Nate already feels like he’s spinning out. Usually the off season starts pretty easy and ramps up a couple weeks in. Between weddings, parties, visiting family and friends he doesn’t get to see much all year, and training, it’s a little hard to find a second to think. He’s just gotten home to Cole Harbour, hasn’t even had a chance to fully unpack yet, let alone unwind, but it seems he’s being pulled in a million different directions.

He’s got a bottle of wine he’s trying to open in one hand, a half unpacked suitcase on the hallway floor, and the dog tangling around his knees when he goes to answer the door as the bell rings for the second time.

“I’m coming,” he grumbles irritably. Not that whoever’s there can hear him, or cares. He shoves Zeus back into the laundry room and shuts him in before he pulls open the front door. “Oh,” Nate says, surprised.

It’s Sid.

“Hey, sorry.” Sid shuffles in, smiling apologetically, and Nate closes the door behind him. “I know you just got in, but my grocery order hasn’t arrived yet and I need to borrow some salt if you’ve got it.”

“Yeah, sure. No problem.” Nate had his parents come in to get the place ready the week before he flew in. His mom told the cleaning service what needed to be done, made a list of things for the landscapers to do, and went through his kitchen to restock the essentials. There was definitely a cupboard full of spices that Nate didn’t have the first clue what to do with.

He’s in the kitchen just about to start digging through the cupboard when Jo comes wandering out, phone in hand, rapid fire Québécois that Nate is pretty certain is at least half curse words.

Shit.

Nate’s French is too rusty to have any idea what he’s talking about, but he knows Sid has played with enough French Canadians over the years to have picked up something. Jo has _some _clothes on, at least, though it’s definitely still incriminating—one of Nate’s too big Avalanche hoodies hanging loose on his frame, a small pair of shorts barely visible underneath. His lips curl into a devious little smile as he makes his way toward Nate, and Nate puts his hand out before he gets any closer.

Jo looks shocked that Nate won’t let him get close, he was definitely coming in for a kiss before Nate stopped him. Nate cuts his eyes hard toward the entryway, trying to get him to look, and when Jo does spot Sid standing there, he looks back to Nate and rolls his eyes at him, saying something particularly harsh sounding to whomever he’s talking to on his phone. The hood is up, mostly obscuring his face from view, and Sid should be far enough away that he wouldn’t have seen how unconscionably rude Jo is, rolling his eyes about a guest in Nate’s home. He’s such a grumpy shit, Nate isn’t sure why he likes him so much.

He trails his hand across Nate’s back as he moves around him, and Nate grits his teeth, sighing. There’s no way he gets out of this without at least some explanation for Sid. Jo digs loudly in a drawer behind him, making as much noise as possible as he looks for whatever he needs. He comes back around to stand in front of Nate with two wine glasses and the corkscrew in one hand, his phone held between his shoulder and his cheek.

He looks directly into Nate’s eyes as he says, “Il adore manger mon cul.”

Nate’s mind whirs, trying to parse out what he’s said, letting Jo take the bottle of wine Nate was meant to have opened from his hand. He’s pretty sure _manger _means food. Or eating.

He loves eating my...

Fuck.

“_Jonathan_,” Nate hisses after him, feeling his face flush hot. Jesus Christ.

Jo glances over his shoulder, smiles like the demon he is, and hitches his shorts a little higher so that Nate can see the raw, red mark on the underside of his ass cheek where Nate had sucked a hickey into his pale skin the night before.

Salt. Nate is meant to be getting salt for Sidney. Who is still waiting by the door, an innocent bystander to witness all of Nate’s deep, dark shame. Nate bangs his head forward against the cupboard before he opens it. He clears his throat. “Did you want a special kind or?” There’s like seven different types of salt in the cupboard, what the actual fuck.

“Whatever is fine,” Sid answers. Nate’s so happy he doesn’t have to look at him right now, he’s probably so red.

“Iodized?” he sounds out, questioning. What does that mean? Like iodine? In salt?

“Honestly whatever.”

There’s a grinder that’s about half full with rock salt so he just grabs that off the shelf, takes it to him. “Uh, sorry, about Jo.” He winces. “I was going to tell you.”

“No apology needed. I’ll get this back to you.”

Nate rubs his neck awkwardly. “Don’t worry about it. But uh. Like, seriously, I meant to tell you. Um. My boyfriend is kind of living here this summer. So he’ll be around a lot.”

“Okay.” Sid smiles tightly. Laughs an uncomfortable laugh. Fuck, Nate should have done this better. “That’s good. That’s really great. I’m happy for you. He seems... nice.”

God, Nate wants to crawl into a hole and _die_. “Yup!” he says, too loud, too much for the circumstances. The last word Nate would use to describe that interaction with Jo is _nice_; Jo isn’t _nice_ to anyone except Nate and even then it’s debatable at times.

Zeus whines from behind the laundry door, scratching at it.

“Well, I’m gonna go.” Sid starts trailing back toward the door and Nate follows, seeing him out. “Thanks again for the salt.”

“Yeah,” Nate says miserably.

Sid’s about to leave, the door half closed behind him, when he turns again. “Hey. It’s really okay, Nate. I am happy for you.”

“Thank you.” Nate leans his head against the edge of the door, heavy all of a sudden. “I wanted to tell you. Differently than this.”

Sid just shakes his head, says easy as anything, “You don’t owe me an explanation.”

It takes a little bit of the weight off his shoulders. He nods, and Sid goes. He locks the door and lets Zeus out of the laundry room, kicking the suitcase around the corner so he can take care of it later.

Jo is in Nate’s room, off the phone, wine glass balanced delicately between his fingers and his ankle crossed over his opposite knee, staring out the big wall of windows that overlooks the water. Nate walks to his bed and collapses face down, groaning.

The comforter is white, the wine red. Jo crawls across the bed toward him, and Nate knows he’s going to spill, never careful. He sets it precariously on the edge of the table at Nate’s side. Nate doesn’t care how big of a mess Jo makes, it’s worth it. He lays down next to Nate, fingers dipping down the curve of his spine.

“Your ex-boyfriend?” he asks snottily. He’s such a brat. Attitude and derision and recklessness. He’s demanding and unashamed. He wants what he wants, isn’t afraid to ask for it, and doesn’t care what anyone thinks. Nate’s falling way too hard for what this is supposed to be.

“It wasn’t like that.” The hoodie is huge on Jo, but it’s not big enough for the both of them. Nate crawls into it with him anyway, fitting his head and his shoulders under before it starts to be too tight of a squeeze. He lays his face down on Jo’s stomach, hiding there. He’s so warm. Nate was already feeling a little overheated so it doesn’t help, but he’s not moving. Jo smells a little like wine and sweat and come and soap, mostly he just smells like himself, and Nate wants to live in it.

“Did you kiss him?”

“Just now?” Nate asks, confused. Jo smacks the back of his head through the hoodie. “Ow, no, god. Of course I didn’t kiss him!”

“Did he let you, before, when it wasn’t like you were his boyfriend?”

“Yeah,” Nate mumbles against his skin.

“Ex-boyfriend, like I said.” All knowing. Matter of fact. No room for argument. Always right and stubborn about it. “Did he let you eat his ass?”

“Stop it,” Nate groans, embarrassed. He shoves the hoodie up over his head, bunches it together under Jo’s armpits and pillows his chin onto it, glaring at Jo. “We’re really good friends. We only hooked up a few times and it was years ago.” He shrugs a shoulder, unsure of how else to put it. Friends with benefits, but mostly just friends, except for that one summer they both got some really good benefits. “I was young and dumb.”

Nate realizes his mistake as soon as he’s said it and rolls his eyes in anticipation of what Jo will say. He walked right into it. “You are still very dumb.”

Nate groans, getting to his knees and settling fully over the top of Jo. His legs hook around Nate’s waist and Nate shoves the hoodie up over Jo’s head, keeping it tangled around his wrists and pinning his arms down to the bed with it. “I’ll show you very dumb.”

“I’m sure you will.”

Fuck, Nate is so screwed.

—

The thing of it is, Nate doesn’t know how he’s going to get around not telling everyone about Jo. It’s not that he doesn’t want to, he definitely does, but there’s not really a great way to casually let the family know he’s essentially paying for Jo to be his boyfriend.

It’s not like an arrangement, really. They don’t have terms. It’s not _Pretty Woman_. But Jo is a broke theatre major graduate with an income source that remains dubiously inconsistent at best, and Nate likes to give him everything he asks for. Nate doesn’t understand what exactly Jo’s job is or how it’s supposed to work. He told Nate once he’s an _influencer_, and Nate felt like he aged at least ninety years when he asked, “a what?”

Nate has mostly stopped asking about it to avoid that feeling again, but Jo shares with him sometimes and Nate nods along, interested but horribly confused. Whatever he does, it requires lots of nice clothes, nice shoes, makeup, hair products, those weird ring lights that are supposed to make a person look hotter somehow—they don’t work on Nate, but Jo always looks hot as hell in the pictures he posts, though Nate suspects that’s more the subject matter than anything a simple light could do.

As far as Nate can surmise, Jo’s job seems to be amassing followers by posting thirst traps and then selling them on targeted products via sponsorship. It sounds shady as hell, but Jo gets a ton of weird offers that he turns down. Sometimes Nate will catch him slamming shit around, going off on a wild tangent in French that Nate can’t follow but guesses is about some cheap, crap product someone wants him to sell. Other times he finds thoughtful little notes written in tiny, perfect cursive detailing what he likes about something, if it has any downfalls. Random shit like toothbrushes and natural deodorant, subscription services, sometimes even books.

He’s always honest. It’s one of Nate’s favorite things about him. He knows he can trust him because even though he’s a little bit haughty and trendy, he’s not frivolous and he hasn’t ever pretended to be anything he isn’t. What people choose to do with their own money is up to them, and if someone wants to buy a home alarm system because Jo advertised it by posting a slutty picture of himself posed on the hood of Nate’s Aston Martin, so be it. It’s not Nate’s job to judge them, or to judge Jo, and it’s not anyone else’s job to judge Nate for the frankly ridiculous amounts of money he wants to spend on Jo. His income isn’t necessarily disposable, but he’s got plenty, and the weird, wild urge he feels to shower Jo in expensive gifts isn’t one he wants to quash.

It’s already been close to a year since they met, a friend of a friend from the Q introduced them at a party the summer before. Jo had maybe caught Nate staring at his ass more than once, and had tucked his fingers into the cuff of Nate’s shirt, pulled his hand close under the guise of looking at his watch while he actually clocked Nate’s reaction to him dragging his fingers along the inside of his wrist. It had been an easy seduction. Nate didn’t have a lot of opportunity to sleep with men like he wanted to, and Jo was just so... Jo.

They exchanged more than phone numbers in his buddy’s bathroom, and Nate hasn’t figured out how to—or even really wanted to—stop being kind of obsessed with Jo ever since. They spent the rest of the summer going on dates when Jo was in town, fucking in front of the open windows of Nate’s freshly built house while the hot sun shone in on them. Neither of them put a name to it before Nate had to go back to Denver for the season, and he spent weeks being miserable, too dumb to get his shit together enough to ask Jo if they were still doing this thing, whatever it was. They kept talking the whole time, the only nights they ever missed were usually because Nate had a late west coast game and ended up on a plane back home or to the next city, too exhausted by the time they landed to do anything but fall asleep.

Sometimes he would be so keyed up after a game that he’d barely make it home, or into the privacy of his hotel room, before he jabbed at Jo’s name in his phone, desperate to talk to him. Jo would answer all breathy and sweet, and something in Nate would loosen, ease. He’d end up light headed from getting hard so fast, Jo saying, “baby, I watched you,” and Nate could tell just by the sound of his voice what he was doing. He’d demand to see and Jo would switch them over to FaceTime and let Nate watch as he got himself off while talking about Nate’s game.

Nate didn’t last much longer before he finally broke down and told Jo how much he fucking missed him, and Jo had easily replied, a tad bitchy, “So tell me to come visit you, already.” Nate sent him money for the tickets, made sure he booked his flight to come in at a time that Nate could get to the airport to pick him up and have a few days with him. Nate spent that time lying to his friends about being under the weather, not answering the door when Tyson came to check on him anyway, and barely left his bed because Jo was in it.

Nate didn’t last much longer before he finally broke down and told them about Jo too. It was before he flew Jo in again, couldn’t deal with the guilt of lying to them anymore, especially not Tyson, who looked like a kicked puppy every time Nate made up an excuse not to hang out. It was just Tys and Gabe and EJ and Nate, sitting around EJ’s table drinking beers, and Nate had admitted, “I have to tell you guys something.”

Everyone had gotten really quiet, Tyson looked ready to cry. “I’m, uh,” he started, unreasonably nervous. They were Nate’s best friends, he trusted them, and they were good guys, but he still wasn’t sure how they would react. “I’m dating a guy, and I was wondering if you’d be cool about meeting him?”

“Oh, thank god,” Tyson had gasped, sucking in air like he hadn’t breathed in a long time, his red face resting forward against the table.

Gabe rubbed his back soothingly. “We thought it was drugs.”

“What?” Nate squawked.

EJ just looked on over them all, arms folded behind his head, reclining with the chair leaned back on two legs, smirking like he was superior to everyone.

“Fuck off,” Gabe said, “you did not know.”

“You were pretty obvious, man,” EJ told Nate.

“There’s no way you could know,” Nate replied.

EJ shrugged. “His name is Jonathan Drouin.”

“Fuck off!” Gabe said again.

“Is he right?” Tyson demanded, like it was a magic trick and EJ had Nate’s card. He nodded, the secret revealed.

EJ shrugged again. “You follow him on Instagram and like everything he posts. I was curious so I followed him too. That week you pretended to be sick, he posted a story, and I recognized your bathroom.”

Nate laughed, hysterically, for way too long. He probably should have known better than to doubt his friends. Everyone meeting went about as well as could have been expected. EJ called Jo catty to his face, Jo called EJ something in French that Nate’s best guess meant _horse sized bitch_, Tyson was terrified of him, and Gabe just in general kept the whole situation pretty chill.

—

Having Jo in the Cole Harbour house with him for the summer is a bit of a trial run. Nate knows how he wants it to go, but Jo is sometimes more aloof. He’s not shy or hesitant with his feelings, never lies, but sometimes Nate will let something particularly soft slip out and Jo will pet his head like he’s an idiot dog that he can’t help but be fond of after it runs head first into a wall. Nate wants to tell Jo he loves him, but he’s a little afraid Jo will laugh and roll his eyes and say, “you too,” like that’s all Nate needs to hear, like he should already know. The problem is that he doesn’t. 

He’s still not entirely sure what they are or what they’re doing, how long it will last until Jo is bored of sitting at home with Nate, but he wants to find out. If he could have his way, at the end of the summer Jo would come with him to Denver and Nate would never have to miss him again the way he did last season. It feels selfish to want Jo to uproot everything and come with him back to Colorado, not to mention the whole visa process it would take to get him there for that long. Nate should talk to one of the guys who isn’t married yet, find out how difficult it would be to bring Jo with him to the states for the season.

He’s on the US Government website, trying to make sense of what any of it means, when Jo comes in. He closes the laptop quickly before Jo can see the page, tries to be casual about it, but Jo notices. He grins at first, says, “You don’t have to look at porn, I’m right here,” but Nate can’t come up with a joke to reply back. Jo frowns at him. “Were you looking at something else?”

Nate lifts the screen back up grimly, tilting it toward Jo who keeps frowning as it turns from black to bright, the crisp white page with FAQs on filing for a visa bold across the screen. Jo pulls the laptop out of Nate’s hands to settle into his lap and look it over. “So it won’t be hard?” he asks, scrolling the whole thing from top to bottom.

“I don’t know,” Nate admits, mumbled into the back of Jo’s shirt where he has his face pressed. Nothing he read made any sense. He doesn’t know what parts of it apply to Jo. Literally has no idea what the fuck he’s doing.

“You don’t have to keep secrets if you want something,” Jo says. He pushes the laptop away and tucks his arm around Nate’s neck, twisting against him so they’re more or less facing each other. Nate keeps his head down, hidden under Jo’s armpit, pressing a kiss to his ribs. “You can just ask me. The worst I will say to you is no.”

That’s what Nate is afraid of. He shakes his head, trying to build up his courage to ask. “Do you love me?”

It’s not fair. He hasn’t said it yet either, shouldn’t make Jo say it first. But Nate is falling here, has fallen, and if Jo doesn’t want it to be like that, Nate can’t really take the crushing blow of having to say it out loud when Jo doesn’t feel the same.

Jo makes a sound in his throat, pushes away from Nate harshly to stand. Nate hangs his head, thinking, _fuck, fuck, fuck, here it goes_. It hurts a little more than he expected it to, to be honest.

Jo grabs a fistful of his hair, yanking Nate’s head back to force him into looking up at him. “Mon chéri,” he starts, and that Nate catches, the rest is all spun together so fast that he has no hope of keeping up. Jo knows Nate can usually translate one sentence at a time, but the fluid way he fires off French, Nate can maybe get one word out of it when he really starts going. He switches back to English just as quickly. “Idiot. Do I love you? What kind of stupid question is that?”

He pushes Nate down against the bed, climbs on top of him. Nate holds him off. It’s exactly what he was worried Jo would do. He doesn’t lie, but he doesn’t tell the whole truth either. Skips around it like he doesn’t even know it’s there. They’ve both been dancing around it for what feels like forever. It’s like they’re caught in limbo. He calls Jo his boyfriend because it’s easier than explaining what the hell they actually seem to be doing, but he doesn’t know if Jo wants the real thing or not.

Nate didn’t truly even ask him to move in this summer. He had asked Jo if he would get to see him at all, and Jo had said _yes, baby, of course, whenever you want_. Nate had asked if he could be there when he got home, and when Jo asked for how long, Nate told him the whole summer. Nothing more has been said about it since.

Jo came to him from Montreal with three suitcases, and Nate is still waiting for the other shoe to drop, thinks he’s probably going to wake up one morning and Jo will have packed and left in the night, back to his life, casual like that’s been the plan all along, for him to leave eventually.

“Jo,” Nate says firmly. “Do you love me?”

Jo’s eyes widen in surprise, his lower lip sticking out in the frowny little pout he makes when he’s concerned. He’s so fucking beautiful, it hurts to think of having to ever say goodbye. “Of course I love you, why the fuck do you think I’m here?” Jo drags him up by the front of his shirt until Nate’s sitting, Jo’s knees on either side of his waist. “You think I’m just here for you to buy me stupid shit? Fuck you. I love you. If you try to leave me now, I’ll drive your ugly Range Rover right into that stupid fucking harbor.”

Nate groans, laughs, gasps, “I love you. Fuck, I love you so much.”

—

As decent as things went when Nate introduced Jo to the boys in Colorado, he considers Sid to be the first _this is serious, we are official now_ test run. If anything, Jo is going to be on his worst behavior knowing Sid and Nate’s history, but Nate wants to get it out of the way before Sarah meets him, or god forbid, his parents. He sends Sid a text saying, _hey, I want to introduce you to Jo for real_ and Sid gets back to him pretty quickly with, _sure, come over whenever_.

It’s pretty awkward to start because Sid is pretty awkward sometimes, but they sit out in the yard with the beers Nate brought with him, and Sid lightens up after a bit. Jo behaves himself for the most part, only gets a little handsy when he decides Sid’s been paying too much attention to Nate and slides his hand up the inside of Nate’s thigh. Sid blinks away, looks out over the water with an embarrassed expression. Nate sets Jo’s grabby hand back in his own lap and gets them all fresh beers.

It goes better than he expects, but Jo is mouthy as they walk back across the lawn to Nate’s house. “Were you young and dumb enough to let him sit on your face?”

“Shut up,” Nate hisses, hurrying him toward the door.

“It’s a really big ass, Nathan, he could suffocate you with that thing.”

Nate slaps his hand over Jo’s mouth to make him stop. “I’m going to suffocate you,” he mutters darkly, trying to get the door unlocked one handed.

Jo arches back against him, licking with a pointed tongue into the crease between where his fingers meet his palm. Nate has to use both hands on the door, shoving it open and Jo inside. “With your ass? Do you promise?” he asks.

He’s the worst, and Nate loves him so, so much.

Sarah’s next. Nate isn’t really nervous about it because Sarah is usually the person he calls when he’s drunk in the middle of the night to tell all of his worst kept secrets to. There’s not much she doesn’t know about him. Jo seems nervous, however, fretting over his outfit and his hair.

Sarah shows up early, while Jo is still getting ready, and he must not have heard her come in because he wanders out into the kitchen, saying, “Baby, can you still see this pimple? Oh.”

Sarah handles it perfectly, ever the saint. She steps forward, introduces herself, says, “You must be Jo. You look really great, but I can show you a trick, if you want?”

Nate has never seen Jo look meek before, but he looks at Nate all big eyed and then nods to Sarah and says please like he’s a good mannered French Canadian boy, and not a hot, feral menace sent to personally destroy Nate mind, body, and soul. Jo leads her back toward the bathroom, and before they’re out of sight, Sarah turns to Nate to mouth ‘baby’ at him, all mock shocked and scandalized.

Nate trails after them, though he doesn’t understand the point of letting Sarah conceal Jo’s pimple when he’s just taking her into the mess that is their bedroom. The bed hasn’t been made in days and is currently covered in every item that Jo brought with him, most of which Nate recognizes as something he bought for Jo at one time or another. Not to mention the disaster of makeup that’s happening on the sink countertop, probably more beauty products than one person will ever need in their lifetime. Nate feels a little proud, standing there watching from the doorway with his arms crossed as Sarah hunts for random items and finds every one she needs. Jo seems perfectly at ease, and Nate does not care even slightly about whatever technique Sarah is explaining for masking a blemish.

“I guess I’ll just go make dinner,” he says. Neither of them even pretend to hear him.

Nate’s pretty sure Sarah likes Jo more than him by the end of the night, the two of them tucked into the corner of the couch with a bottle of wine, whispering about something so Nate can’t overhear. Nate’s on the other couch with Zeus, commiserating about being left out. He’s a little jealous, but he gets to spend all the time in the world locked away with Jo. Mostly, he’s just happy.

It means it’s just his parents left to meet Jo, and that… Nate is nervous as hell about that.

“Parents love me,” Jo says with a confidence Nate is pretty sure he’s faking, but he appreciates it anyway. “Why are you worried?”

Honestly, Nate hasn’t been the most forthcoming with his parents about Jo. Since he’s been home, he’s visited them at their house, and the one time they showed up unannounced, he made Jo hide in the bedroom for the fifteen minutes it took to get them out with his lies about being busy. He’s actually pretty sure they think Jo’s a girl, and he hasn’t corrected them on it. Nate hadn’t let any of this slip to Sarah, and he’s hoping she spilled the beans and got it out of the way for him so he doesn’t have to.

It’s absolutely the wrong way to go about it, and it’s a terrible thing to put Jo through, but Nate just pushes on like he’s powering through a bag skate. No one ever said Nate is particularly smart.

They don’t knock, and Zeus doesn’t bark, so the only warning they get is his mom saying, “Honey, we’re here,” while they take their shoes off.

Nate presses a quick kiss to Jo’s cheek before leading him around the corner, and Nate must be as visibly freaked out as he feels because Jo’s lip is doing the concerned pouty thing, whereas before he looked totally calm. “Mom, dad, this is Jo, my boyfriend,” he says, waiting anxiously with his heart in his throat for their reactions.

His dad doesn’t so much as flinch, stepping forward to shake Jo’s hand with the same weird, overly vigorous, manly handshake he used to greet everyone. While Jo is otherwise occupied, Nate’s mom takes the opportunity to frown at Nate with as much disappointment as he’s ever seen from her. Though, he’s pretty certain it’s to do solely with his lack of information sharing and not at all because Jo is very much a man.

“Did Sarah tell you?” he asks once they’ve sat down to eat, unable to take it anymore. He has to know.

His mom brandishes her fork at him, a floret of steamed broccoli speared on the end. “No, honey. Believe it or not, the eight different posters of Sid on your bedroom wall growing up was our first clue.”

Fuck. Nate looks at Jo who is blinking at him serenely, wine glass held to his lips. “Nathan,” he starts, setting down the wine with a solid clink of impending doom, and Nate thinks, _oh shit_. “I cannot wait for you to show me your childhood bedroom.”

—

There’s a million little things that Nate loves about Jo. Even if pressed, he couldn’t pick a singular favorite thing. He’s perfect in all of his imperfect ways, fits with Nate better than anyone Nate could have imagined. If Nate has a type, it’s definitely Jo.

One of the best parts though is that even though he’s more slight, a little smaller, he’s not fragile. He’s not a professional athlete, but he’ll train with Nate and he doesn’t complain once it gets past the point where most people would want to quit and Nate keeps going, wanting perfection from himself, needing to push himself further just to know he can.

They’ve already trained that morning, but Jo leads him back down to the gym after they’ve showered and eaten, tells Nate to wait while he gets his camera and lights set up. He gives Nate the ground rules. He has to brace himself and not move while Jo climbs all over him without touching the floor.

It’s for TikTok, whatever the fuck that is. It’s a challenge. Nate loves a challenge, so he’s game.

The thing is, even though Jo is thinner, not quite the brick shit house stature that Nate is, he’s not really all that different in size, and it makes it that much more difficult. It takes a couple of tries, Jo not getting his grip right and slipping to the floor, but Nate stays braced, sturdy. If Nate was allowed to help more, they’d get it no problem, but Nate touching Jo isn’t allowed and he has to figure out how to maneuver himself around, over, through, and back up again on his own.

It’s cute when he gets it, the excitement on his face as he leans it to kiss him, giddy, still clinging to Nate with his legs wrapped tight around his waist. “Want to try another challenge?”

Nate’s not really thinking about it when he agrees, he’s happy to do what makes Jo happy, and if that’s weird internet challenges, Nate’s down to try them all. They’ll have to be careful because Nate isn’t planning on coming out to the whole world quite yet, but Jo gets that, is careful about what he films and shares.

It’s not until Jo’s devious grin is right in his face that he knows something horrible and depraved is going to come out of his mouth, and Nate honestly can’t wait. He’s filthy and the absolute worst and doesn’t have an ounce of shame in his body. Nate loves it, loves him with everything he has.

“It’s the eat me out until I come challenge,” Jo says, hitching himself up higher on Nate’s hips. “I think you’ll probably win.”

Nate groans. Now that he can touch, he puts his hands right on Jo’s ass. “Do I have to hold you up against the wall or something?” It will probably kill his back, but he can do it. A challenge is a challenge, after all. Nate’s not a fucking quitter.

Jo laughs, dropping his feet to the floor and his pants to his ankles right there. “No, I think the floor is fine.”

Nate might not be able to pick a favorite thing about him, but Jo getting down to his hands and knees for Nate to eat him out in the gym is pretty close. Coming almost soundlessly with Nate’s tongue in his ass is even closer. Falling to his elbows and gasping, “yeah, baby, get me dirty,” while Nate jerks off over his ass is definitely, definitely up there.

It takes a couple of minutes for Nate to recuperate, Jo sprawled out on the floor next to him like a cat basking in the sun. Nate blinks out of his daze of staring at him, catches sight of the camera, and swears. “Fuck, was that recording the whole time?”

Jo grins, easy, unbothered. He crawls over to grab the camera off its stand and settles back in next to Nate, starting the video from the beginning. They watch the failed attempts and get to the one where Jo makes the full circuit. It’s framed perfectly, cutting Nate off at the neck, the gym wall blank behind him, no giveaways. He’s just a solid body in the frame for Jo to climb over. The mic picks up his laugh when he clambers up to Nate’s chest, even though it’s out of frame, the obviously delighted kiss he plants on him.

“I think that turned out good,” Nate says.

Jo hums, still watching intently.

They’re both in the shot by the time Jo gets down on his knees, Nate right up behind him. The thought of filming porn, watching himself fuck, never crossed Nate’s mind in any capacity. It works for him more than he thought it would. Mostly it’s Jo and how Nate has never seen him from this angle, what he looks like while Nate rims him. He’s never seen Jo’s body contort like that as he reaches back to run his fingers through Nate’s hair, how his chest heaves with gasps. Nate has never seen how Jo reacts to Nate’s hand sliding along his back, grasping his hips to pull him back against his mouth, his thumbs dug in to spread him open.

He’s certainly never seen himself jerk off before.

“Jesus,” he mutters. It’s weirder to watch when he’s the subject of it.

Jo seems into it, setting the camera down out of range and climbing on for round two. Nate’s jaw hurts, his mouth is sore, but even after Jo has come a second time, his thighs shaking, sitting down too hard on Nate’s face, he doesn’t let him suffocate. He grins down at Nate, slow and easy, a little smug, letting Nate wipe spit against the inside of his leg. He settles back onto Nate’s chest, slapping his face while Nate tries to catch his breath. “Good game, baby.”


End file.
